The Garden of Karma
Rain tomorrow they say, but sun today.
Set the courgette plants out, four in a row.
Cherish the exercise, bend and stoop,
Ease them in, add a copper loop
To baffle the molluscs. Then splat . . .
A slap on the neck like a wet dish cloth
Some malevolent bird, out of spite
Has voided its bowels from a great height,
Down my shirt runs a river of (insert suitable rhyme).
I’ve fed them through hard times for years,
Subscribed to the RSPB, donated to clear
Bird islands of the shipwrecked rat.
Be this a karmic consequence of that?
It must be some older sin that stalks
Down the years, from a former life:
When I slew the last dodo with my knife,
Or when, from the deck of the Dutchman,
I shot the wanderer down.
This voided white dross
Is neither robin nor thrush,
But the final salute of the albatross.